


The Chosen One

by sassy_cat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Courtship, M/M, Matchmaking, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-09 14:38:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4352735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassy_cat/pseuds/sassy_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is new to the magical world and finds himself thrown into a magical match-making rite that is, according to Hermione, the chance of a lifetime. Too bad the one person that Harry finds interesting is the grumpy gardener who barely tolerates him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chosen One

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Written for Snape_Potter's Road Not Taken Fest. A special thank you to perverse_idyll whose outstanding beta greatly improved the story and to both the snape_potter mods and badgerlady who waited patiently for my entry then chased down any errors that I left behind.

Harry had spent most of the afternoon listening to the portraits school a couple of the Chosen Ones on propriety. A particularly out-spoken, blonde-haired witch had scolded them about speaking too boldly to their betters and remembering their social class.

It was hard not to laugh at the looks of outrage on the Chosen Ones' faces, but Harry didn't want to draw attention. Hanging back and learning from the mistakes of others was one of his better skills; it was how he'd survived the Dursleys, and later, how he'd made his way in London.

Unlike the other Chosen Ones, he was aware that he was out of his depth, having only just discovered magical society. But he did like it here.

The house, despite its short-tempered portraits, was cosy and inviting. Its huge size was easily forgotten when each new room Harry entered felt like a home, like a place he could curl up with a book and drink a cuppa, including this room with the portraits… it was a fantastic room… when they were sleeping.

He patted his trouser leg, feeling for the wand that was safely stowed in his pocket. He hadn't learned to do much with it yet, but he felt safer having it close.

"Hem, hem."

Harry glanced around. Most of the other Chosen Ones were sneaking looks into the hallway and gossiping about whom amongst the Wizen had arrived. There was one other bloke sleeping on a settee so that meant the 'Hem Hem' had to have come from one of the portraits.

He slowly lifted his eyes to see if any of them were watching him. It was the blonde-haired woman with the vicious tongue, dressed all in black and looking formidable, naturally.

When their eyes made contact, she curtseyed and said, "Don't think we haven't noticed you. It's refreshing to see a youth who's not overly anxious to ensnare a spouse."

Harry was embarrassed but managed to reply politely, "Um, thank you, ma'am, I didn't want to trouble you. I imagine you've earned your rest."

She almost smiled. "Too true, laddie, if only more of you felt that way. You'll want to meet our heir. He'll take a shine to you. That, I know."

He'd never conversed with a dead person before and found it slightly surreal. "Thank you, ma'am, I appreciate you thinking so highly of me."

A couple of the Chosen witches heard their exchange and rushed over to listen. The lady within the portrait obviously wasn't as fond of them and immediately feigned sleep.

Harry felt happy for the first time that day.

It reminded him of how relieved he'd been when he learned about the magical world. Magic had explained a lot of confusing things, and none too soon.

He'd already left the Dursleys' when he met Hermione, and she'd recognised his magic straight away. Right after they shook hands, she'd shrieked excitedly, 'You've got magic!'

He'd thought she was just another Shoreditch nutter, but meeting her turned out to be one of the best days of his life. At last, he understood why freaky stuff happened around him and, even better, he wasn't alone in his freakiness.

Hermione had taken him to a bizarre, hidden part of London, and that's where he'd got his wand and also found out about owls delivering wizarding post. Suddenly, the odd-looking people on the street didn't look strange anymore and all the bird cages hanging around made sense.

As much as he'd loved learning about magic and making new friends, his love affair with the wizarding world had come to an abrupt end when he got a letter stating he was to be a Chosen One. These witches and wizards had some unusual notions about love.

His thoughts were interrupted by a little house-elf, and he was relieved that Hermione had forewarned him about those things. The house-elf proudly adjusted her tea towel and announced, "They's ready for the Presenting. Follow Blinkey."

The others in the room began whispering and smoothing out their robes. Harry resisted the urge to untuck his shirt from his trousers, and he was proud of himself, having only hours earlier suppressed his desire to run away entirely.

With great reluctance, he followed the rest of the group to the Presenting. A large ballroom had been converted to a makeshift viewing area with a line of circular platforms. Each stand had a Chosen One's name inscribed with glittering gold text at the base.

A Crafter, wearing a pale green robe, stepped forward and said, "Take your places on the stages. We will be assigning wish bowls and placing them at your feet. Once the Presentation is complete, we'll require the remainder of the afternoon to organise the lists. Please don't attempt to influence our decisions."

Harry walked over to the platform that read Harry James Potter and stepped up just as a crystal ball looking bowl appeared in front of his shoes. He had an overwhelming desire to kick it off.

Once everyone was in their places, the Crafter added, "Be certain to show your best attributes to the Wizen. May each of them find the match they deserve!"

Harry noticed that the Crafter witch wasn't worried about whether the Chosen Ones would find happiness. Apparently, being present was gift enough.

Murmurs could be heard throughout the room as the assembled Wizen flipped through Ministry-provided files, matching names and faces with data gathered from who knows where. Harry's gut burned with resentment… he felt like a piece of meat.

It was humiliating to know that they were assessing him, reading about his background and gauging whether they believed he'd make a good match for them.

Oh, it had been explained well enough over lunch. If a member of the Wizen liked him, they'd leave him a card. He was then obligated to spend one evening with each of them.

His potential lovers would do their best to impress him and coax him into accepting their suit. If he agreed, they'd enter a term contract and test the success of their match.

Harry thought the Companion Rites were a lot of tosh. He'd learnt all about negotiations and contractual agreements in London, and there was always a loophole or a hidden clause.

His first year on his own he'd spent couchsurfing, never knowing where he'd lay his head. Eventually, he'd ended up squatting with a group of property guardians, and it was dealing with the agencies and corporations that had taught him to be wary of people with too much power.

Understanding contracts came later, after he stumbled upon his first modelling gig. Hermione had taken him to Selfridges to buy swimwear and demanded he come out to show her the fit and, just like that: his arse was discovered.

When he thought about it, it was a fairly embarrassing set of circumstances. His bum was all over billboards and city buses, but it paid the bills, which was something the Dursleys hadn't thought he'd ever manage.

He was too famous in the Muggle world, so Hermione convinced him to spend more time in the magical world. All he wanted was to find someone who didn't see an underwear model when he walked by.

Unlike Hermione, who'd met Ron during their nights out, Harry hadn't had any luck in the magical clubs. He seemed to be a magnet for shallow plonkers.

The wizards he met tended to think less of him because he didn't have formal magical training, and the few who were willing to overlook his Muggle upbringing lost all interest in anything but sex as soon as they found out what he did for work.

Harry heard whispering in the far back of the room. "He's fit, but no skills."

"Really, Hattie? You'd hardly be choosing him for intellectual company. Priorities, woman."

Harry dropped his head, hoping they weren't talking about him. Sure, he'd like to know more spells, but magic was just another part of who he was—he didn't need it to define him.

And he wanted love for love's sake, something real that stirred his heart and made him feel daring. He'd had enough meaningless flings to know that wasn't the best foundation for something lasting.

Ron agreed with him about the Rites, but Ron also shrugged off most of the old ways; he labelled himself a progressive wizard. Hermione called Ron a numpty who couldn't see the wood for the trees. But that was because she was passionately in love with him and he hadn't noticed yet.

Harry smiled, thinking of his friends, and heard a couple of gasps. Damn. He'd made himself look available and interested when his plan had been to look jaded and discontent so none of the Wizen would want him.

He needed out of this house and to forget these Rites existed. He was prey for these people, and he'd do well to remember that. Hermione had assured him that being selected for the Companion Rites was a great honour that any witch or wizard would be grateful to receive.

Harry scanned the room accidentally meeting the eyes of an attractive but aggressive-looking blond man and shuddered under the intensity of his gaze. No, she was wrong. Not every witch or wizard would be grateful for the honour… He sure as hell wasn't.

At the end of the Presentation, Harry had collected five cards. He peeked into the other Chosen Ones' bowls and saw most of them had at least twice as many. Good. The sooner he escaped this ridiculous wizarding farce the better.

He passed his bowl to a bored-looking witch and accepted his fate. He had to stay at least six days and five nights, but he hoped that the Crafters could arrange his 'dates' one after the other.

What he really wanted was a drink, but that would only cloud his judgement so, instead, he slipped out a side door into one of the many courtyard flower gardens surrounding the house.

The afternoon sun was starting to hang low, but there were at least a couple hours of light left. Harry glanced up at the sky, watching a series of clouds slowly moving east.

How he wished he could go with them… he leaned against a large oak tree, taking slow deep breaths. He ran his fingers over the rough, strong bark, enjoying the coarse feel.

All his years of forced gardening for Aunt Petunia had taught him the joys of nature and how to draw serenity and strength from it. Feeling calmer, he noticed he was standing in a poorly kept bed of red impatiens that circled the tree.

Carefully, he stepped out of the flowers and crouched down to pull out a few stray weeds. The mindless repetition was soothing and helped him forget where he was and what he going to have to do.

"Surely you're not meant to be the new gardener."

Harry startled, and a handful of weeds and dirty roots sprayed onto a pair of work boots. "Sorry! I'm sorry." Harry looked up squinting and saw only an outline of a man.

He put his hand above his eyes to block the sun and a stern-looking man with weathered skin, dressed in plain work clothes came into view. Thank, Merlin, it wasn't a Wizen.

"I—uh, I was just trying to relax. I'm here for the nonsense." Harry stood up, absently brushing off his hands. "And I'm, uh, I'm sorry if I'm making you look bad."

The man arched a brow and smoothly asked, "What?"

Harry bit his lip, embarrassed to have put his foot in it. "I mean, I can see you're part of garden staff, and I meant no insult when I was weeding. It's just something that relaxes me, and I need all the help I can get." He offered a nervous grin, knowing he needed to shut up before he made it worse.

The gardener had just opened his mouth to reply when they heard the door open. "Ah, Severus, there you are."

A silky voice from behind them continued, "We're about to begin the Sorting, and we don't need one of your noisy experiments to enhance the ambiance."

It was the blond-haired Wizen, and Harry decided that this must be his estate, because he looked an awful lot like that lady from the portrait.

The gardener scowled at him, lacing his fingers behind his back and keeping his head held high. Harry was impressed that he didn't seem intimidated at all.

His body language was bold and screamed defiance. Most human staff cowered before their wizarding employers, always fearful of being replaced by a house-elf.

"I'll be certain to keep that in mind, Mr Malfoy. I was just directing this young man back inside. Someone must have made him feel terribly uncomfortable, if he ended up preferring my company."

Damn. Harry almost whistled under his breath, because this bloke had bollocks. Sadly, his amusement vanished when the Malfoy fellow took notice and looked him over—top to bottom, then bottom to crotch.

Harry's face reddened, and he had to force himself to stay still. He glanced desperately to the gardener with the harsh name, wishing he had a reason to help him.

"Mr Malfoy, I believe I just saw a Crafter peering out the window. They're likely looking for you to arrange your schedule."

Malfoy tore his eyes away from Harry and gave the gardener a small smile. "Thank you, Severus. I know exactly who I want to have first." He threw one last eager look Harry's way and strode back inside oozing confidence.

Harry sagged with relief, and the gardener gave him a peculiar look. "You don't act like you want to be here."

"I don't," Harry said, before he remembered his manners. "I mean, I don't think I'm cut out for these kinds of transactions."

"Then why are you here?" The man bent down onto his knees and began to pull the weeds Harry had been tending to earlier.

"My friend Hermione said it would be an insult to the society types to decline. She said being a Chosen One was a great honour. How do people find love if they go about it in such a cold way?" Harry knelt beside him, helping to tidy the soil.

"I believe they're seeking companionship rather than love," Severus answered, in a no-nonsense way that made Harry bristle with resentment.

"That's just the thing I don't want. I could find that anywhere. Hell, I've had it. I want something real."

The man stared at him with deep brown, unreadable eyes and then scoffed, "That's the folly of youth talking. When your looks fade, you'll be happy enough to find companionship."

Harry frowned. He didn't think he'd settle for less than love, ever, but he'd not been tested on that. Maybe he'd change his mind. He tugged on some goosegrass, tossing it behind him. "You've got dark thoughts, mate."

Severus huffed and grabbed the goosegrass, stuffing it into his pocket. "Don't toss the cleavers. It's good for medicinal potions."

Harry stopped and looked at the foul stuff scattered amongst the flowers. Surely, he was taking the piss. "Really?"  
  
"It's in Blemish Blitzer and the juice is needed for Pepperup." His tone brooked no argument.

"Oh." Harry felt like he was living in a foreign world. Well, he was sort of but it wasn't supposed to be alien to him. He should know stuff like this. "How do you know?"

"I attended Hogwarts, of course. How is that you don't know?" Severus asked without looking up from his work.

"Lived with Muggles and they burnt my Hogwarts letter. Didn't know that's what it was until a year ago. Just thought it was regular post they didn't want me to have."

A few minutes passed in silence with nothing but the shuffling of knees and the brush of sleeves against the plants for sound. The gardener—Severus, and what an odd name that was—seemed content to let the conversation end, but Harry wasn't so ready. This was the first person he'd met here that he liked.

"So this is his house. Malfoy's, I mean."

Disbelief, or something Harry couldn't read, flittered across Severus's face, and he answered in a low, cutting tone, "He certainly acts like it."

When they finished, Harry stood back to examine their progress. The tree bed was much improved, and the flowers seemed to be sighing with relief.

"Thanks for letting me help. I needed to clear my head and calm down, and five dates shouldn't be too awful. There are other people stuck doing twice that many." Realising he was babbling, he added, "Sorry, I talk too much when I'm nervous."

Severus almost smiled, dipping his head to the side to hide it. "You only managed to acquire five cards?"

"Well, I didn't mean to get that many," Harry grumbled, disappointed his plan had failed.

Severus's eyes widened and he raised his left eyebrow, making his face look as if he was asking a question. He still had the hint of a smile on his lips, and he looked striking… Harry shook his head. It wouldn't do to start mooning over gardeners.

"Most people want as many choices as possible so they can choose the best match."

Harry frowned, glancing back towards the house. "I don't intend to choose any of them. I'm going through the motions because Hermione will have my head if I insult everyone, but there's no way I'm going to take a lover who's selected me like I'm livestock. I don't care if that does mean I have antiquated morals."

Severus arched his brow again, clearly curious. "What exactly are antiquated morals?"

Harry thought the eyebrow thing was an odd habit but it suited his angular features, and those were some fantastic cheekbones.

Harry felt his face heat, embarrassed by where his thoughts were going. "Um, it's Muggle influence, I guess. Sorry, I forget that witches and wizards are different. I didn't even know about all this magic stuff until I ran into Hermione. She's a Muggleborn witch, you see, and she's much more interested in this world than I am."

Severus was studying him, and being obvious about it. And Harry was unnerved by how his body was reacting to this moody stranger. His mouth went dry, and he had a brief flashback to one of his first shoots; a stunning photographer kept toying with him and he'd been so flattered and overwhelmed.

But that hadn't gone anywhere, and Harry didn't think this Severus bloke had any interest in him, either. He was probably just inquisitive by nature.

"You didn't answer my question," Severus demanded, crossing his arms.

Harry swallowed thickly. "What? Oh, um, antiquated morals, um, I'm just idealistic about love. Hermione says I'm a bit of a prude, but I don't think there's anything wrong with holding out for the best person. If it's right, then I'll know. It's simple to me."

"Simple," Severus murmured, examining Harry as though he was a strange bug that had just crawled into the garden.

Harry offered a timid grin, feeling a little flirty and aroused by Severus's intensity. "Yeah, simple. Um, I guess I'd better go prepare for dinner before the Crafters toss me out. I'm already dreading my night with Malfoy, but don't tell him." Harry winked, feeling daring. "I don't want to be rude to the host."

Severus gazed towards the house, and the door that Mr Malfoy had entered earlier. "I should think not."

"I, um, I guess I'll see you around."

Severus nodded and knelt to rearrange some edging stones. "Undoubtedly," he answered, already happy to ignore Harry.

Harry sighed, knowing it was pointless to try avoiding the inevitable. He forced himself to return to the house, brushing the dirt from his hands onto his trousers as he went, never realising that dark eyes were watching him walk away.

**

Harry stared down at his list. The delicious lamb he'd enjoyed during dinner was trying to find its way back up and out. He had two dates straight away, a day off, a third followed by two days off, and then his final two dates.

Over dinner, the Sorting had been explained in detail. The Crafters matched people based upon how the Wizen ranked interest. Harry's first was Lucius Malfoy. His second was a woman named Emmeline Vance, followed by Cornelius Fudge, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Hestia Jones.

If a Wizen found a match and worked out a contract before his scheduled date, then theirs would be cancelled. There were twice as many Chosen Ones as Wizen participating in the Rites, so it was possible he wouldn't have to turn up for all them.

Relief and trepidation warred inside him. He might be getting out of some of the meetings, but the one he was dreading most was happening tomorrow. Mr Malfoy kept eyeing him from across the room, and flashing smiles that Harry thought were meant to be charming.

It made Harry feel ill: thus the problem with his lamb.

He turned to one of the Crafters and quietly asked, "May I be excused early this evening? I'm not feeling well."

The man gave him a calculating look but nodded his consent. Harry was out of the dining room as quickly as he could manage without breaking into a run.

He made it to the safety of his room and slumped against the door when it clicked shut.

The furnishings were gorgeous, with lots of creams and dark greens, and he had a dark, shiny four-post bed that looked inviting. The room even had a patio area that led out into another of the courtyards that surrounded the estate.

He was sharing the courtyard with two other Chosen Ones, but compared to the tiny communal garden he was accustomed to back at his flat, sharing with only two others was practically private.

The area off the patio was a kitchen garden filled with trellised vegetables, edible flowers and herbs, and it offered something precious: freedom. Harry moved through the room and opened the pane glass door that led to the patio, welcoming the fresh evening air.

There was a small table and set of chairs off to the side, but he wanted to be out in the open. A winding path of stepping stones led to a white, rounded bench that had a bit of ivy climbing up the side. Harry walked to it and sat down, running his hands over the cool stone.

The garden was almost consumed by the shadow of the house, and Harry regretted the loss of light. The day was ending, and tomorrow, he'd have to face Mr Malfoy.

He swallowed hard, choking down his fear. He was being childish, because he didn't have to commit to anything. All he had to do was see this through; it wasn't as if Mr Malfoy could force him to do anything.

Harry was pulled from his thoughts by a shadowed movement from his left. He stood and called out, "Who's there?"

The gardener from earlier stepped out from behind some trellised runner beans holding a small gathering basket. His displeasure at finding Harry in the garden was apparent. "You're supposed to be at dinner."

"Um, right, I had to bow out early. Wasn't feeling well… Didn't mean to interrupt you." He sat back down and ran his shoes over the uneven blades of grass surrounding the stepping stones.

Severus stood stiffly for a moment as if deciding what to do. "I'll leave you to your privacy."

He had sweat circles under his arms, and the legs of his trousers were muddy from thigh to knee. Earlier, his hair had been tied back neatly, but it had since come loose, and long, black strands were brushing his sharp cheekbones.

He'd been working hard and was surely hungry. "Don't mind me. Like you said, I'm not supposed to be here anyway." Harry smiled and returned to studying the grass at his feet.

He thought that would be the end of it, so he was delighted when Severus asked, "Are you pleased with your Wizen schedule?"

Careful not to show how happy he was to be engaged in conversation, Harry answered slowly, "I suppose. The worst one will be over first, so that's something. I can only hope the other Wizen find matches before they get to me."

Harry realised Severus's dark eyes were watching him intently as if searching for some secret, but he didn't look away from the penetrating gaze. He was certain the gardener intimidated a lot of people with his intensity, but Harry's prick found him fascinating.

Darkness had nearly overtaken the garden, and fireflies were starting to wake up for their nightly courtship dance. Harry watched as one blinked between them, weaving back and forth.

"Who is the suitor you're dreading so?" The man edged closer as he spoke, and it felt as if he was pulling the night in with him.

Harry swallowed thickly, his mouth a little dry. "Well, uh, it's Mr Malfoy. He seems awfully interested, but I can't imagine anything he could offer me that would make me want him."

Severus sat down on the edge of the bench. "Mr Malfoy is rich and beautiful. He could make you very happy and help you find your way in the world."

Harry shook his head. "I'll find my own way, thanks. And beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right? I don't think he's my type." Realising he was bad-mouthing the man's employer, Harry hastily added, "But I shouldn't rush to judgements."

He offered a weak smile, and Severus stared for another moment before getting up and walking away without another word, leaving Harry feeling as if he was still surrounded by the man's presence and had missed something terribly important.

 

**

 

The next day Harry wandered aimlessly around the grounds. His mysterious gardener was nowhere to be found, and the day was passing slowly. The other Chosen Ones were scheduling appointments and discussing what they'd be wearing on their first and most important dates.

Harry had decided to wear his oversized brown robes that Hermione said made him look like a monk. The Crafters were whispering about his lack of effort, but there was no way he was prettying himself up for Mr Malfoy.

At around four in the afternoon, Harry received notice he'd be having dinner in a private garden, the one adjacent to Mr Malfoy's suite. Harry's stomach clenched… Mr Malfoy really fancied him.

A house-elf, he thought it was the same one from the Presenting, came to his room and guided him to the private garden. Large containers of night-blooming jasmine lined the edge of the house, filling the air with a sweet, heady scent.

A small candlelit table for two was waiting, and Mr Malfoy had taken great care with his appearance. He was wearing soft blue robes that were cut down at the waist to accentuate the width of his shoulders and his trim hips.

Thanks to his work, Harry knew fashion, and from the looks of Mr Malfoy, he appreciated style more than most. Harry almost felt ashamed that he'd made no effort, until he remembered that he didn't want Mr Malfoy's interest.

Mr Malfoy gestured for him to sit, and so he did, despite having no appetite. He hoped that he could pretend well enough not to cause offense.

A silver tray was lifted to show a beautifully roasted bird that smelled just about as good as the jasmine. "I hope you like duck. This is an old family recipe that keeps the meat tender and succulent." Mr Malfoy portioned out the duck and some roasted vegetables.

Harry thought he looked unaccustomed to serving, even for politeness's sake, but he wasn't about to point it out. "Umm, sure," Harry answered, hesitantly, "Thank you, Mr Malfoy."

"It's my pleasure," Mr Malfoy purred. "And do call me Lucius."

Noticing the drop in the man's voice, Harry did his best to ignore what he expected to be the first of many attempts to chat him up. "I'll try. Thank you for dinner."

Lucius picked up his knife and carefully cut off a small slice of meat. "You're most welcome. I believe we have much to discuss. Would you care for some wine?"

Harry quickly placed his hand over his glass. "No, thank you, Lucius, I don't indulge whilst negotiating."

Lucius poured himself a generous amount, raising his glass. "Your loss, Harry. It's an excellent vintage."

"I'm certain it is. Perhaps there will be time later." There. That was as nice as he could be about it, because he was not getting pissed with this bloke.

"Would you like to tell me about yourself?" Lucius asked as he carefully cut a bite of roasted carrot.

Harry snorted. "You read my file that the Ministry provided during the Presentation. You know much more about me than I know about you."

He inclined his head and smiled. "Touché. What would you like to know about me?"

Harry paused, thinking it over. "Why are you taking part in the Rites?"

Lucius seemed surprised, as if that wasn't something one was supposed to ask, and maybe it wasn't.

"Well, I was expecting something more along the lines of what do you do for a living, but if you'd like to skip the idle chatter, I suppose that's acceptable as well." He put down his cutlery and laced his fingers together, resting his wrists on the table's edge.

"I'm a wealthy man who longs for companionship but, having just lost my wife, I'm not yet seeking love. This is a revered tradition where I can find what I need while maintaining respectability."

Harry listened attentively and was happy to receive more honesty than he'd anticipated. "I hope you find someone," he said, meaning it sincerely. "I'm not certain how I was chosen; I just got a letter in the post telling me that I should be pleased."

Lucius smirked and took a sip of his wine. "Chosen Ones are members of the community who are believed to be single and possessing magic but no criminal record. If you had communicated to the Crafters Board that you were in a relationship, you would have been excluded."

Harry was stunned, and from Lucius's obvious delight, he assumed that he looked like a gaping fish. He tried to pull himself together, but he felt so betrayed. "I'm going to kill her," Harry growled.

Lucius's gave Harry a questioning look that demanded an explanation.

Harry sighed, knowing Lucius deserved to know he wasn't interested. "My friend Hermione didn't tell me I had a choice. She made it seem as if a Chosen One didn't have the option to decline. She's tried to play matchmaker for me before, but she's never been so underhanded about it."

Lucius tilted his head, understanding the situation for the first time. "You don't want to do this. You're here out of some misguided belief that it's an obligation."

Harry reddened. "Umm, yeah, actually, I'm sorry. I don't think I'd want a contracted relationship. I'd rather wait for love."

Lucius drained his glass. "I won't say I'm not disappointed. You were my first choice among the Chosen Ones. I assume this means you wouldn't want to see me romantically, even without a contract?"

Relaxed and overjoyed to be freed from a long evening of pretending, Harry chuckled. "Honestly, I'd rather go out with your gardener!"

"My gardener?" A look of fascinated disbelief flashed across Lucius's face before he turned his head and began to shake. At first Harry was alarmed, fearful that he'd deeply offended him, but when he lifted his hand to cover his mouth, Harry realised he was stifling laughter.

When Lucius managed to compose himself, carefully dabbing imaginary tears from his eyes, he said, "I see you have a distinctive preference that I cannot hope to compete against. You'll have to forgive my shock."

Feeling defensive and a little peeved by Lucius's attitude, Harry crossed his arms and huffed, "I don't see what's so funny. I just liked him more than you." He begrudgingly added, "It's nothing personal."

Much to Harry's surprise, Lucius smiled, and it touched his eyes. "If you're intrigued by Severus, then nothing could make me happier, aside from your choosing me for a partner. I believe it will take some convincing to get him to come around, but I'll be happy to help."

Harry panicked. "No! I mean… yes, I like him and he seems nice in an intense kind of way, but I'm not looking for any arrangements. I want to fall in love the old-fashioned way, where no one is forced or tricked into anything."

Lucius poured himself another glass of wine. "I see. You're a man of idealistic integrity." After taking a quick sip, he added, "In that case, I won't say a word. Wizard's honour."

Harry sat back, relieved. He gave Lucius a genuine smile and took his first bite of dinner. He closed his eyes as the juices tickled his taste buds. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and savoured the rich the flavour. He moaned, "This is delicious."

Lucius coughed and Harry saw that his eyes were dilated. Tightly clutching his wine glass, he murmured, "So pleased you can enjoy something I have to offer."

The rest of the dinner was shared in strained silence, but Harry's heart was lighter for having abandoned the charade.

 

**

 

The next morning Harry received an owl stating that Emmeline Vance as well as Cornelius Fudge had made successful matches and wouldn't be holding further interviews. Ugh, interviews. The entire process was so clinical.

He stretched his arms and back as he got out of bed. Five days. Five glorious days he could enjoy the estate before his two final dates. He dug through his wardrobe and pulled out a pair of denims and a soft green tee that he'd packed to remind himself that in his real life he was allowed to feel comfortable when he wasn't working.

Maybe it was because he'd grown up around Muggles, but he couldn't get used to wearing dresses. He realised they were _robes_ , and it was the way of wizards, but he liked his trousers and intended to keep them.

He tugged on fresh boxers and slipped into the well-loved denims. He took a quick look over his shoulder and smiled. They really did hug his arse nicely. He'd learnt over the last couple of years that a man's arse was a huge deal.

Harry studied himself in the mirror. The glasses had been replaced by contacts, thank goodness, and his eyes were a pretty colour but yeah, he was fairly ordinary.

Harry slipped on his trainers and stepped out onto the patio, stretching again when he felt the warmth of the morning sun. Dew was still on the grass, and the way it glistened made the garden look enchanted.

He wandered through the pathways, plucking a green pepper and a bright red tomato. He spied some basil he wanted tucked behind orange calendula, so he took a few steps back, having to go around a giant courgette plant that was buzzing with bees.

He nearly fell when he hit something hard. He swung around, shocked to find himself crushing a bundle of coriander against his reluctant gardener friend.

"Shit! Sorry, I didn't know you were out here," Harry said as he fluffed up the damaged herb. He watched Severus try to mask his irritation and fail. "Bet you'll be glad when we're all gone and things can get back to normal. We must be driving you mad."

Those dark eyes widened and, yes, Harry decided that he could get used to him not looking sour all the time.

"Why aren't you with the others?" Severus asked, gruffly.

"I'm not much for crowds in the morning, so I was just going to gather a few of these veg. Thought I could drop them by the kitchen."

Severus frowned. "We have house-elves for that."

Harry laughed and pointed to his hands. "Then why are you holding coriander and heading towards the tomatoes?"

"Because I like to prepare my own breakfast, not that it's any of your concern." He grabbed Harry's tomato and green pepper and stalked away.

For a moment, Harry stood frozen in place. When they'd touched skin to skin, Harry felt his magic react. He'd never experienced that kind of tingling sensation, and the pleasure of it went straight to his cock.

When he'd gathered his wits and realised Severus was getting away with his food, Harry chased after him. "Hey! Wait a minute. I planned to eat those."

Severus slowed his pace, but he didn't turn around. "Too bad."

"No, wait," Harry called after him. "I keep seeing you around, and we haven't been properly introduced." Harry reached out and grabbed the other man's arm, forcing him to stop. "I'm Harry."

Harry's heart was pounding. Severus's magic felt like pins and needles on his fingers. He fought not to shiver as he thought about how it might feel to have their bodies pressed together.

"You're brash, is what you are," Severus said, and jerked his arm free. Harry suspected he could feel the tingles as well but was ignoring them.

Harry grabbed him again to stop him from walking away. Whatever this was, he needed to know what it meant. "Please, please tell me your name so I can quit calling you the gardener," he said, desperate for anything to say.

Severus huffed, "My name is Severus, as I'm sure you remember. Now unhand me, _Harry_ , before I hex you into tomorrow."

"Fine, but do you think we can eat together?"

Severus glared at Harry's hand, still lying on his bicep. "If I agree, will you release me, or will you continue to claw at me like some kind of frantic simian?"

Harry beamed, ecstatic that he was agreeing. "I'll make every effort to behave like a human. Thanks, Severus."

Severus smirked and shoved the food into Harry's arms. "I haven't said yes yet. I simply asked how you'd behave."

"Oi! You're a great prat, aren't you?"

"Are you going to screech all day, or are you going to come along and help with the cooking?" Severus spun around and started walking towards a small cottage.

Harry hurried after him, mumbling to himself, "I must be daft."

Severus used his wand to unlock the door to the cottage, holding it open for Harry to enter. He was surprised to see that it was mostly one room. The majority of the interior walls had been gutted to create a giant workroom.

There was a small kitchen along the back wall next to a fireplace, so Harry went over and placed the food on the worktop. He didn't think Severus would want him to natter on about the decoration, or lack thereof, so he asked, "Can I help with the chopping, then?"

Severus brushed past to pull a small basket of eggs and some butter from the fridge. "Knife's in the drawer to your right beside the sink," he answered as he reached above Harry and pulled down a frying pan.

Harry set to work rinsing and chopping the veg. He was dicing as precisely as Aunt Petunia would have expected but realised that Severus might want something different. "Will this do? Or shall I make it finer?"

Severus glanced down at Harry's work. "That's adequate, but do try not to mangle the coriander."

Harry chuckled. "I'm so pleased you approve." And he was, but it wouldn't do for Severus to know that. "Are you always such a charmer, or am I just lucky?"

"Both. I categorise people quickly."

Harry paused chopping. "What does that even mean?"

Severus scowled and put a knob of butter into the warmed pan. "Most everyone makes my list of simpering, incompetent fools. Once they're there, I find I can't muster the strength to be cordial."

Harry smiled, biting his upper lip to hide it. "Am I on the list?"

Severus broke eggs into the skillet, tossing the shells into a compost bowl beside the cooker.

"I've not decided about you yet. You have a grace period to prove that you're not a blathering idiot. If you pass, I'll continue to strive to be civil. However, I imagine you'll grow tired of my company soon enough. Everyone does."

Harry watched him stir, gently breaking the yolks before sprinkling in the tomato and pepper. He was efficient and graceful in his movements, but that tongue, Merlin, that tongue cut like a knife. Without thinking he asked, "Do you call them blathering idiots to their faces?"

Severus cast a cleaning charm on his spatula and scoffed, "At the very least."

Harry hung his head and tried not to laugh. No wonder Severus spent so much time outside alone. What other profession could allow him to be an outright bastard and earn money?

If Harry said a fraction of the things he thought about people on the set of shoots or to people he met on the street and in stores, he'd be out of a contract before he could bounce two pence off his bum.

"Plates are in the cupboard right in front of you. You'd best get them if you want to eat."

Harry was about to reply when the door opened, and he heard Lucius's voice. "Severus, you won't believe what I have to tell you about last evening."

Harry spun around in a panic. Lucius shouldn't be here. Eyes wide, he pointed his finger at Lucius. "You said you wouldn't tell! Wizard's honour."

Severus's gaze shifted from Harry to Lucius, his eyes flickering with an evil glint. "Tell _what_ , exactly?"

Harry ran his fingers though his hair. And the morning had been going so well. If Severus found out he was trying to pursue him, he'd be relegated to the list of incompetent fools. He just knew it. In a soft voice, he said, "I told him I didn't want to date him."

"You said as much yesterday. What's got that peacock in my work cottage at this hour? He'd not be here just to tell me he was rejected."

Harry gulped. His gaze moved from an irritated Severus to an amused Lucius and back again. "Fine. I said I'd rather go out with you. He promised he wouldn't tell, but here he is not twelve hours later with a story for you."

Harry hissed at Lucius, "Thanks for that, by the way. I thought you weren't going to say a word— _Wizard's honour_."

Lucius smirked from his position just inside the doorway. "And, I didn't. You managed to tell him everything all by yourself. I merely meant to divulge what a tantalising little tart you were, moaning over my duck after you told me I stood no chance."

Harry's face grew hot, and he knew his flush told Severus that it was true. He risked a glance toward Severus, and he looked gobsmacked.

Severus whispered, "You seek a term agreement with me?"

"No! I don't even know you. I was trying to get to know you so I could maybe ask you out before I leave. I want something I can't move on from, something I couldn't forget even if I tried, and I don't think I'll get that from a contract."

Lucius snorted. "You've chosen the least agreeable wizard in all of Britain. You'll get something you won't forget, if nothing else."

Severus ignored him in favour of staring at Harry. "Why?"

" _Why_?" Harry repeated, confused.

"Yes, you parroting simpleton, why would you wish to be with me?"

Harry had never had anyone interrogate him like that before. If he showed an interest, the other person just accepted it. Hell, he was usually the person feeling suspicious.

"I don't know. 'Cause I like you and you're funny in a scary way? And you don't treat me like meat? I thought there might be a chance you'd like just… me."

Severus's eyes narrowed. "Is this some prank that the two of you concocted?"

Lucius rolled his eyes at Severus's grumbling, but Harry was flustered. He felt like he was missing his chance at something he truly wanted… Severus gave him tingles, for Merlin's sake!

Harry unleashed his fear and anger on Lucius. "You did this! We were getting on just fine. We were going to have a nice sit-down and talk about nothing. I was going to ask to help with the chores. He was going to tolerate me until he decided whether I had to be put on his list."

Harry paused to catch his breath, turning to Severus to add, "And I wasn't going to be."

Rather than appearing embarrassed or remorseful, Lucius looked pleased with himself, but Harry felt miserable as if he'd lost before he'd started.

Severus was watching them, deep in thought—the silence stretched, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Harry shifted under the scrutiny, and he was accustomed to being eyed up.

Every person who picked up a broadsheet had an opinion on his arse and whether he was dishy. How many times had he overheard someone say, 'I'd shag him if he didn't talk'?

Severus finally broke the silence by saying, "Lucius, get out."

He pulled his wand, and Lucius went flying out the door. It closed and locked behind him. Severus took a deep breath, and Harry braced himself for whatever he was about to hear.

"Damn and blast!" Harry flinched, surprised by the outburst. "The eggs are burning. Fuck Lucius and his timing."

Harry slumped against the cupboards and teased, "I'd rather not, as I explained to him last night."

Severus frowned as he raked the food onto their plates, but Harry had a feeling it was over the eggs rather than his comeback.

"So you did. I hope you like charred vegetables with bits of egg crumbles, because that's all I have to offer."

Harry beamed, grateful that he wasn't angry. "I think I could grow to like charred vegetables. I… I much prefer slightly bitter to overly sweet."

Severus placed the pitiful-looking plates on the table and went back to the worktop for a jug of water. He conjured a second chair for Harry and gestured for him to sit. "You're not what I expected."

Harry furrowed his brow and frowned. "We met a couple of days ago. How could you have any expectations?"

Severus's cheeks took on a hint of pink. "You're Harry Potter. Any man who likes arse is going to recognise yours from the high street. Lucius couldn't stop squawking about having a new celebrity among this year's Chosen Ones."

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the gut. How could he have thought that he'd escaped his fame? He deserved to be at the top of Severus's list of fools. "I—I should probably go. This has all been one big misunderstanding." He stood, hoping he could get out before he showed the extent of his upset.

"Sit. Eat. Then you can be outraged by the loss of your anonymity."

Harry gripped the back of his chair for a moment then sat back down and pushed at his flatware. "Why should I?"

Severus glared impatiently, but answered, "Because you're less likely to make rash decisions if you've eaten. And I don't wish to discuss anything—emotional until I've eaten."

Harry grudgingly agreed. "You're very, um, logical."

"Painfully so. I'm sure you'll find it tedious soon enough," he sighed, poking at his food. He took a bite and pulled a face, immediately pouring himself some water.

Harry didn't think it was that bad. Then again, he'd eaten much worse. Aunt Petunia never wasted good food on him, and after he'd left her house, skipping hadn't provided the best of options, either.

Just as they were finishing, Severus murmured, "I suppose you should know that the estate is mine."

Harry nearly choked on his last bite. "But I thought—"

"I know what you thought, but to tell you otherwise would have provoked questions." He held up his hand so Harry would let him finish. "I expected you to go into the Rites and torment all the Wizen with what they couldn't have before deciding on your pick. I had no reason to encourage you."

Harry thought about it, and decided that Severus wasn't the sort of person who'd disclose a lot. Still, there was something that didn't make sense. "Why did you host this farce of a love match, if you weren't going to take part?"

Severus looked away before answering. "When I was younger, I made some decisions that I'm not proud of. Those choices provided me with enough wealth that the Ministry won't openly punish me for fear of backlash, but they still enjoy pressing me to make contributions such as hosting the Rites to prove that I'm a proper member of wizarding society."

Harry felt a little hurt by the deceit but understood why Severus would want a bit of anonymity; he was mourning the loss of his own. "I understand. I have a problem with people not taking me seriously, and that's why I started spending time in the magical world. I was hoping to be just Harry here."

"Despite how much this is going to delight Lucius, I'm willing to let you be just Harry, if I can remain just Severus. It would be refreshing."

Harry grinned. "It will be easy for you to be just Severus, since I don't know your last name or anything about you besides the fact that you're not a gardener and you've done something to piss off the Ministry."

"It's Snape. Severus Snape."

Harry could see Severus was watching for some recollection of awareness, but Harry had honestly never heard of him. "You think I should know your name."

"Most do. You're famous in the Muggle world, but I'm infamous here. Taking up with me will do your reputation no favours."

Harry sat back and considered what he knew. He'd known straight away that Severus wasn't a nice man. He spoke harshly and didn't care for decorum, but Harry had attributed that to a servant's resentment. When he'd lived with Aunt Petunia, he'd felt that kind of bitterness.

Harry had known a lot of bad people. The fashion industry was filled with them, but Severus, for all his supposed infamy, didn't scare him. "Do you regret doing those things?"

Severus didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Would you do them again?"

Harry heard resolution and regret as he said, "Only if I had to."

"Then your infamy is about as important as my fame—at least in this. I still want to get to know you."

Severus's surprise was apparent, but Harry watched his eyes and saw the moment he decided to believe him. His demeanour shifted, and he was once again the surly gardener. "I suppose you'll want to weed all my plant beds as well."

"Someone needs to. The bloke who owns the place can't be arsed with doing it. Besides, all the squatting keeps my arse nice and firm, and I wouldn't want to lose my best feature."

Severus shifted in his chair, readjusting his trousers. "You'll need to tell the Crafters that you've reached an agreement."

"Have I? Reached an agreement?"

"Yes, you have. Beginning today, you and I are going to _not_ have a term agreement, and we're going to do whatever we bloody well please for as long as it makes us happy." He reached out and took Harry's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Harry's skin warmed immediately as his magic mingled with Severus's. He reached over to stroke the back of Severus's hand, noticing a series of thin scars for the first time. "Since the Ministry forced you to host the Rites, why weren't you a Wizen?"

A brief look of hurt passed over Severus's face, but his tone was carefully sarcastic when he said, "Who'd have me?"

Harry's fingers stilled on top of the scars. "Oi! I'm sitting right here, you know."

Severus smirked and his eyes held a gleam of mischief. "But you're no one of consequence. You're just Harry."

Harry forced himself not to smile. "I see your point." Clasping their hands palm to palm, Harry felt jolt of magic and saw a flash of something—Memory? No—Fantasy?

_His hair was longer and fanned out on the pillow below him. Long slender fingers were holding his wrists above his head as he writhed below. He was trying desperately to touch with his body what his hands were being denied before another hand slowly slid down his chest. He saw the top of a dark head following and could feel strands of hair tickling and the flicking of a tongue trailing after the fingers._

The image faded before Harry could see the man's face, but he recognised that dark hair and pale skin—Oh, God. Was it a premonition? Breathing heavily, he stared at Severus with a mixture of fear and lust. He'd not expected something like this to happen to him, ever.

Severus stared back unaffected. If he saw the vision, he was hiding it well. Harry wanted to jump into his arms and snog the breath out of him, but he was unsure of his welcome.

Severus's annoyed voice filtered through to his brain that was buzzing from the erotic mental flash. "Don't tell me you're a mouth breather. I'm not certain I could tolerate that."

Harry snapped his mouth shut and held on tightly to Severus's hand. His cock was pressing against his zip, and his heart was pounding against his chest. "No, not normally," he said softly, "Um, sorry about that. Felt a jolt of magic is all."

Severus rolled his eyes and tried to pull his hand free. "That's just complementary magic; it's advantageous but unnecessary for a good match. You'll get used to it."

Harry knew he was talking about the tingles, but nodded his head in understanding anyway. "There's probably a lot things I need to know, growing up with Muggles."

"Without doubt. But now is not the time to learn them, I have work that must be completed this morning, and you need to speak with the Crafters."

Harry reluctantly released his hand. "You're right, of course, unless Lucius has dashed up there to do it for me."

Severus shook his head, disagreeing. "Lucius has many flaws, but he wouldn't interfere in the Rites. He has a great deal of respect for the old ways."

Harry sighed, running his fingers through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. "And it's going to look like I don't. Damn, I don't want to come off looking like an arse."

Severus waved off his concern. "I wouldn't worry. A couple of Muggleborns do it every year."

"But I'm not a Muggleborn. I just grew up with Muggles. Oh, God, does that make it worse?"

"Harry," Severus said sharply, "you're leaving because you found someone independently. That's not the same thing as walking out because you're squeamish."

"I guess." Harry stood, his erection having wilted at the thought of confronting the Crafters. He rubbed his palms against his denims, adding, "I'm just nervous."

Severus leaned back and crossed his arms, radiating confidence. "Don't be. The Crafters are simply witches and wizards who happen to be busybodies. They hold no real power."

Harry grinned, because they did seem to be overly curious types. "Thanks. I wish I was more familiar with the wizarding world."

"You will be soon enough." He gestured toward the house. "When they magically collect your belongings, and they will, don't accept them. They'll be set to Portkey you to the train station. Instead call out for Blinkey. She's my house-elf—although she's been assisting the Crafters. Tell Blinkey that Master Severus says to take your things to the White Suite. She won't dare defy you, even if she checks with me after."

Harry walked around the table and put his hand on Severus's shoulder, carefully brushing back his hair. "You're being decent. I really appreciate it."

Severus's stiffened under his touch but didn't pull away. "Yes, well. You'll be required to join me here for lunch as payment. I don't offer any service for free."

Harry laughed, happy that he wasn't the only one out of sorts. "That's good to know. Do I owe any other debts that you've forgot to mention?"

Severus wet his lips and shifted in his seat. "Several that I intend to collect at a later date."

"I understand. You should know that I like to keep my accounts current. Do let me know when my debts require satisfaction." He fingered Severus's hair, loving the way Severus leaned ever so slightly into his touch. "I suppose I should go."

Harry gave his shoulder one last squeeze and walked over to the door. He paused in the doorway and turned back to ask, "How do you think I'd look with longer hair?"

Severus turned in his chair and offered him the tiniest of smiles. "Like a proper wizard, I'd imagine. You hardly need to look more shaggable."

Harry's stomach fluttered. "I was thinking of growing it out, but we can talk about that over lunch." Feeling bold, he came back to kiss Severus gently on the lips. When their lips touched, the tingle was more like a zap, and Harry moaned, even though he'd meant for the kiss to be chaste.

He opened his eyes and saw Severus was as turned on as he was. He ran his thumb over Severus's bottom lip and whispered, "You'll explain this to me at lunch?"

Severus murmured, "As much as I can."

Harry stole one last kiss before he left for the main house. It would be too easy to spend the day stealing kisses from Severus, but Severus had things to do and he had Crafters to locate. After all, he needed to thank them for helping him find his Chosen One.

-The End-

  



End file.
